


Sweet Sin, So Naked and Bare

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Choke Sex, Cock Piercing, Come Swapping, Dean in Panties, Dirty Talk, Dominant Sam, Exhibitionism, First Time Bareback, Hurt Sam, Incest Kink, M/M, Panty Kink, Rimming, Samulet, Submissive Dean, Switching, Wincest - Freeform, absolute and complete filth, face fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have you ever thought about us doing it bare?”<br/>Sam pauses with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth and brings his gaze up.  “What do you mean?”<br/>“You know.  Fucking bareback.”  Dean’s not looking at him and Sam really, really wishes he would.<br/>Sam sets the cup down and exhales slowly.  “Maybe.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Sin, So Naked and Bare

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I say I'm not going to write any more Wincest, I do the exact opposite and end up compromising myself beyond measure. Needless to say, I'm absolutely terrible at lying. Anyway, this fic is for Alice (cockslutciel over on Tumblr) for helping me find that floating feeling again. Thanks a million babe, because I don't know what on earth I'd be doing without you.

If the old maxim about pain is just weakness leaves the body does indeed prove to have a ring of truth to it, then Sam figures he ought to be the strongest person on the face of the earth at the moment.

            Because everything from the top of his head to the soles of his feet hurt like _hell._

Mount Rushmore, South Dakota provides an absolutely stunning backdrop to the calamitous humming in his ears, the banshee’s final screech of death still echoing so loudly inside his skull that he honest to God (or whomever, seeing as how God probably wouldn’t let such creatures roam free if he truly did care) believes that his brain is going to be reduced to mush  Sam knows that can’t be a good thing, seeing as how Dean’s always deemed him the smarts of the outfit.  True enough, but Dean doesn’t give himself enough credit most days – he could have recited the Iroquois spell to get rid of this monster just as easily as Sam did.

            Except he was the one swinging the enchanted axe in an effort to behead the damned thing, leaving Sam with trying to not only dodge the swipes of the banshee’s claws but also his brother’s somewhat ill-aimed cleaving act. It worked, but not before their quarry had sunk its teeth into his left side and sent him into what, at this point, has to be approaching shock.

            That was before he went tumbling down a blind ravine and probably bruised every bone comprising his skeleton.

            He’s still there, trying his hardest to sit up as Dean finishes chopping the banshee up before burning it.  The park rangers are going to have a field day trying to identify whatever the hell it was that they incinerated at the foot of the monument, Sam convinced that old T.R. is smiling down at them for their astonishing feats of manliness – if manliness is measured by traipsing around the country for your nearly twenty four years and ridding the world of beasts that maybe even Teddy would have been just a touch frightened of.

            _Theodore, if only you knew_ , Sam muses.  It pains him to think right now, but out of all bodily functions it hurts the least, so he lies there in wait, doing his best to envision in his mind’s eye what might or might not be broken.

            He knows that he’s cracked a couple ribs, that much is clear.  He’s nearly positive he heard them snap when the banshee got its teeth into him.  Then there’s his left arm as well, pain flaring out from his left shoulder and down to his fingertips like rays from some cruel sun, trapped under his body where he’s wedged between two small boulders.  He can’t exactly scream through it, and Dean does at least know where he is.

            Doesn’t he?

            “Sam!”

            Ah – he’s looking for him now.

            Sam’s thankful that he’s not hurt his head, having somehow managed for that much at least to escape too much injury.  There’s a knot the size of a golf ball on the back of it where the banshee collided with him, howling like hell on earth, but aside from that he’s alright.  His vision’s mostly clear, if a little unstable and there are now two Thomas Jeffersons peering out over the landscape.  Heh, what if there had been two of them?  Sam thinks about how the nation could have gotten off on a better footing had that been the case.

            His thoughts are put to a stop as Dean skitters down the slope of the ravine and dashes over to where Sam’s keeping the earth nice and warm under his battered form.

            “Sam, what the hell?”  Dean’s already trying to sit him up and the action makes Sam’s eyes water involuntarily.  Seriously, who knew that tumbling over rocks and such could hurt so damn much?

            Sam finds his voice, even if it does come out in a sort of darkly comical wheeze and if Dean laughs at him, well, Sam has absolutely no control over that.  “Tripped.  Is it finished?”

            “Yeah, it is.”  Dean’s attention is focused on Sam completely, his hands palpating his torso and when he finds the bite the banshee left, his brow lifts with not inconsiderable concern.  “Looks like she tried to eat you.”

            Sam grins, only for it to fade a moment later because apparently his facial muscles are in rebellion against movement along with most everything else.  “Guess I must taste extra good today, what do you think?”

            Dean’s mightily tempted to lean forward and lick his brother’s neck (he does it on a regular enough basis) but right now Sam’s covered in sweat and dirty and banshee blood.  As wonderful as Sam tastes, he doesn’t exactly see it being a good idea, not when Sam’s about half a minute from passing out and covered in grossness.  Of course, being covered in grossness is their modus operandi most days but hey, it’s not exactly put a stop to dicking each other.

            Right now though, terrible idea.

            “How about we find out later?  Right now we gotta get you out of this hole.”  Dean gets his left arm around Sam from his right side, immediately noticing that Sam’s not going to be much help in moving himself.

            “Hey Dean?”  Sam’s words are all slurry as he starts to drop to the ground again.  “Don’ think my legs are working.”

            “Yeah, I see that princess.  Are they broken?”  Dean doesn’t think they are, at least not at first glance, but it’s still plainly obvious they’re next to useless.

            “Nah.  Banshee…”  Sam has to swallow from the sudden dryness in his mouth.  “Banshee spit.  Immobilizes its victims.”

            “Can’t fucking walk but you can still recite supernatural trivia back at me.”

            Sam just grins in response as Dean hoists him back up. 

            With a grunt, Dean starts them up the hill, Sam doing what he can to help – which isn’t very much at all.  “You’re fucking _heavy_.”

            “’Cause I’m all muscle.”  Sam’s not wrong – he’s packed on another ten pounds in the last month and it’s all in his arms; Dean had made a point of inspecting his biceps very closely a couple nights before with his tongue after he’d noticed Sam’s t-shirt trying extremely hard to contain them.

            “I got news for you – it ain’t doing shit right now.”  Dean gets them out of the ravine and deposits Sam on a mostly flat rock, leaving him as upright as possible.  “Think you can chill here without tumbling back down while I go move the car closer?”

            Sitting flat on his ass alleviates some of the throbbing pain in his lower left side but it’s still enough to blot out most of his active thought – and sharpen the contrast on how much the rest of him hurts.  “Yeah.”

            “Good – not hauling your pretty ass up out of that hole twice.”  Dean gets up but doesn’t walk away quite yet, watching Sam trying to blink the world back into proper focus.  “You sure you’ll be alright for a couple minutes?”

            Sam scolds Dean and tries to shoo him away.  “Go, Dean.  The faster you get back the faster we can…”  Sam makes a motion with his left hand that Dean takes to understand as “go.”

            “Don’t die on me.”  Dean can’t resist a quick kiss to Sam’s forehead as he turns and scrams back to the parking lot, half a mile away.  He uses the park ranger’s trail to navigate the Impala back to the landing where he’s left Sam.  Sam’s still sitting on the rock, holding his head with his right hand and covering the bite in his side with his left.  Dean grabs the first aid kit from the trunk and goes over to where Sam’s swaying woozily.

            Sam perks up a touch when Dean reappears in his blurry vision.  “There you are.”

            “Yeah, here I am.”  Dean gives Sam a bolstering smile as he starts to unbutton Sam’s plaid.  How the hell Sam’s wearing long sleeves in the middle of July escapes him; it’s easily ninety degrees out here, and dry.  Right now though isn’t the time to rag on him about it, and he pencils it in for later. 

            “You know, it’s not right to take advantage of me in this weakened state,” Sam jokes.

            Dean snorts as a reply.  “Like I’d want your old sweaty ass right now anyway.”

            “Hasn’t stopped you before.”  Sam tries to hold out his arm so that Dean take his shirt off but it’s a lost cause; Dean has to extend it for him and when he bends it past its currently very limited range of motion, Sam howls.

            “Won’t do that again,” Dean promises.  He notices the ugly way the skin’s purpled from Sam’s bones being rent in ways they shouldn’t be and decides that Sam’s just going to have to be okay with him cutting the rest of his shirt away.  He pulls out his Bowie knife and as he sets to work, says: “Besides, I like it when you’re fully conscious if I’m having your sweaty ass.”

            “Me too.  Tongue feels better that way.”  Sam hisses through tightly clenched teeth as Dean presses an alcohol-soaked cloth to the bleeding teethmarks marring his left side.

            “Tell you what, as soon as we have you settled I’ll try and make good on that, how’s that sound?”  Dean reaches up and brushes Sam’s hair out of his eyes.

            “I lead such a joyful life; first an alcohol-soaked torture device and then my brother makes promises to eat me out.”  Sam tries his absolute hardest to sound jovial but the throbbing in his head robs him of any joy he might have.  “Dean, cold pack.”

            Dean rummages through the first aid kit and bends their last remaining cold back in half, handing it off to Sam.  “Hey, I try to spoil you as often as I can.”  Dean inspects the rag, now soaked through with Sam’s blood and yeah, this is going to require stiches.

            “Such a good brother.”  Sam whispers it, and Dean sees that Sam’s very quickly slipping into unconsciousness.  “Fuck.”

            “What?”  Dean discards the bloody rag and touches Sam’s face to keep him passing out.  “What’s up?”

            “Think I might be falling asleep on you.”  Sam’s eyes are already closed and the cold pack’s on the ground where he’s let go of it.

            “Not yet, Sammy.  Just a couple more minutes and then you can sleep, alright?”  Dean leans forward and kisses him on the lips, trying to catch the last vestiges of Sam’s consciousness on his tongue.

            Sam nods without replying, weakly kissing back and opening his eyes halfway.  “Hurry.”

            Dean sets to work at taping up Sam’s side, sealing him up with gauze and trying not to fret too much over how the blood immediately starts to soak through his handiwork.  It’s the best he can do right now until he can get Sam to a flat surface, and their options are pretty limited right now.  Once Dean gets Sam bandaged up he makes him swallow a Vicodin.  Sam stays awake long enough to say thank you and for Dean to get him to the car, Dean grumbling mostly for his own sake as he gets him into the passenger seat.

            With the first aid kit retrieved and tossed into the back seat, Dean peels out of the park as fast as he can.  He stops by the park ranger station at the entrance to tell them that their problem’s been cleared up but he can’t stick around, he has to get his partner somewhere safe.  The ranger on duty doesn’t get to ask any more questions before Dean’s beating it nearly due east towards Sioux Falls, Sam passed out beside him and, for the moment, looking to be at peace.

___

            Bobby’s in his kitchen making a latish dinner of catfish and collard greens when he hears the familiar rumble of 275 General Motors-crafted Horsepower Park itself outside his front porch, only to cut off a moment later as he’s pulling the catfish out of the pan.

            “What in the hell?”  Bobby adjusts his cap as he treads from his kitchen to the living room, pistol tucked into his waistband just in case.  He doesn’t even have the chance to open the door before Dean’s bursting into his foyer with Sam draped over him, Dean smiling gaily and Sam… not.

            “This ain’t a sick ward, ya know?”  Bobby gets Sam under his left side and the brush of his body against the injury in his side makes Sam’s eyes water again.

            “Yeah well the normal hospital doesn’t treat banshee bites.  Falling down a ravine?  Sure.”  Dean’s already hobbling Sam towards the stairs and Bobby’s mostly keeping them moving forward.

            “He fell down a ravine?”

            “Gets tripped up on those big feet sometimes.” 

            Sam grumbles a half-hearted “shut the hell up.”

            “Gonna have to put him in the back bedroom- other two are full of stuff I don’t have any other place for.”  Bobby squeezes past them so he can open the door to the aforementioned bedroom, going in and turning the light on so that Dean can see where he’s going.

            “Aren’t they always?”  Dean eases Sam down on the squeaky old mattress, knowing it’s not exactly the softest place in the world but right now Sam’s not in a position to complain about it.

            Dean’s already starting to take off the impromptu bandaging he’d put on Sam back at the park.  “Got your suture kit handy?”  Dean puts the question forth without taking his eyes off of Sam.

            “Yeah, I’ll be back in a second.”

            Sam comes to again, feeling blissfully numb; the Vicodin’s still working as it should be.  “When did we arrive at the Waldorf Astoria?”

            “About five minutes ago, Sammy.  Someone’s bringing us hot food and a couple of masseuses.”  Dean’s wiping the blood away from Sam’s side, having brought in the first aid kit in Sam’s back pack.

            “Sounds great.”  Sam uses his right arm to reach out and caress Dean’s cheek, making Dean look up to face him.  “C’mere.”

            “Sammy…” Dean starts to protest but reflex is already drawing him towards Sam’s mouth.

            “C’mere.”  Sam uses what little expendable energy he has left in reserve to inject a steady note of command into his voice and Dean moves that much quicker.  The brush of their lips is hot and dry, much like the air outside and it makes Sam’s battered body crackle with something other than almighty hurt, pushing the steady pound of his head to the edge of his consciousness.  He replaces it with Dean’s tongue in his mouth, silky smooth and blessedly wet.  Sam groans as he tries to push back against Dean’s mouth but his body’s having none of it, and Dean kisses him right back down into the old feather pillows underneath Sam’s head.

             “Later, Sam,” Dean murmurs against Sam’s mouth, pulling away with regret as he hears Bobby come stomping back up the stairs.  Sam’s eyes are half shut but even then Dean sees through Sam’s pain and painkiller addled state the hot flicker of desire in those hazel irises, burning like embers that really never die.  Sam licks his lips, catching the taste of Dean’s mouth and pulling it back inside him to hold onto for just a little while longer, even though he knows unconsciousness is right around the corner.

            Dean’s attention is still locked onto Sam’s face as Bobby bursts back into the room with a loud “here ya go” that makes Dean nearly jump out of his boots.

            “Christ, Bobby, give a man some warning.”  Dean hides the guilty blush heating his cheeks by opening the small box and getting the sterilized needle and surgical thread out, Sam having passed out right as Bobby had entered the door.

            “Warning?  What for?”  Bobby regards Dean with his more than normal amount of suspicion and it’s not a look that Dean particularly enjoys having turned on him.

            “Uh, guess I’m still jumpy from earlier.  Thing came screaming out of fucking _nowhere_.”  Dean returns to the task of patching Sam up, holding his tongue in between his teeth not only in concentration but also in an effort to will the erection he sprang the second Sam opened his mouth for his tongue to slide in.

            “Banshee, right?”  Bobby leans against the door frame and folds his arms over his chest.  “Thought they weren’t this far west.”

            Dean’s eyes nearly cross as he threads his needle and then looks up at Bobby.  “Can’t say for sure why she was out here but that’s what it was.”

            “Well, another day, another surgery in my house.  You need anything else?”  Bobby’s projecting gruffness but Dean hears the ping of worry behind as clear as a bell.

            “Isn’t there some sort of anti-venom that Sam needs?”  Dean recalls something about a special mixture to counteract the banshee’s toxic saliva and they didn’t exactly have the ingredients on hand in the car to make any up.

            “Mm hm.  Lucky it’s slow acting stuff, too. Be back in a second.”  Bobby pops back downstairs and Dean breathes a sigh of relief; he’s glad the old man bought his story, which to be fair is true; the banshee had caught them slightly off guard but Dean fears Bobby’s wrath a hell of a lot more than any supernatural being.

            It still hasn’t stopped them from messing around under his roof since they were teenagers, however.

            Dean makes a quick, clean job of finishing up with sewing Sam’s side back together, his skin now oozing clear plasma instead of blood.  He wipes it away all the same and puts a clean bandage back over the sutures, Sam still out cold through the whole process.  He makes a closer inspection of Sam’s whole body and thankfully there aren’t any broken bones but Sam’s going to have one hell of a bruise come morning.  Bruises are better than the alternative though, and Dean’s thankful that he’s not in worse shape than he already is.  He’ll work on taping up Sam’s ribs when Sam’s actually able to hold himself upright; for now, he’s going to let his brother rest.

            Dean hangs around for a couple more minutes after he’s finished, watching Sam’s chest rise and fall. Sam’s breathing is mostly even, save for an involuntarily ragged inhale, courtesy of his cracked ribs.  Dean goes easy with undressing Sam, leaving him in just his boxer briefs.  Since it’s summer he doesn’t bother to cover Sam up just yet, the heat still casting a pervasive pall throughout the house even though the sun set half an hour ago.  He kisses Sam on the lips again before he heads downstairs to check up on Bobby and to look for a bowl large enough so that he can try to wash Sam up a little.

            “Here’s your elixir,” Bobby announces as Dean pads into the kitchen.  It’s in a syringe with a rather wicked looking needle and live-saving or not, Dean’s glad he’s not the one on the receiving end of it.  “Should have the poison out of his system in about a day.”

            “I won’t ask how he’s gonna get rid of it.”  Dean sets the needle aside for a moment and starts to raid Bobby’s cabinets.

            “Whatcha huntin’ for son?”  Bobby shoos him away before Dean has his kitchen all out of sorts.

            “Bowl so I can at least get the grime off him.”  Dean doesn’t look at Bobby as he says it, afraid of giving himself away on the fact that he’s going to enjoy getting to rub Sam down.

            Bobby goes to the cupboard next to the refrigerator and hands Dean a large, green bowl that could probably hold enough water to let a horse have his fill.  “Here – and don’t get water all over my floor.”  Bobby grumbles about rude houseguest as he takes his re-heated dinner to his study and turns on the television.

            “Thank you!,” Dean calls as he heads back up the stairs, the bowl tucked safely under one arm and the syringe clasped firmly in his left hand.

            Dean ducks into the room before he goes to fill the bowl up, Sam’s mouth now parted in a soft snore.  Dean allows himself a smile, Sam blissfully unaware of his own pain for the time being.

            Dean double checks to see that the water is nearly scalding hot (the temperature that Sam deems as “perfect”) and heads back to where Sam lies resting.  Dean sets aside the bowl and wash cloth he’s procured and takes off his shirt, leaving his torso naked save for his amulet.  Should Bobby come upstairs and to check on them he has the ready excuse of it’s hot up here and he doesn’t want to get his shirt any more wet than it already is. 

            He lays out a towel on either side of Sam’s outstretched form to catch the water that will run off of him and sets to work, gentle as he goes about wiping the dirt and sweat from Sam’s skin.  He notices a couple more cuts that he didn’t catch earlier and washes them with thoroughness, satisfied that they are merely skin deep and don’t require any sort of extra attention.  He’s extremely careful about washing Sam’s left leg, knowing he was favoring it pretty heavily when he tried to walk earlier.  Dean makes a mental note of keeping a close eye on it, in the unfortunately likely case something else is wrong beyond a bad sprain and banshee saliva. After he’s finished he takes the syringe and pushes the needle into Sam’s right arm, Sam not even stirring as the antidote floods his system. Dean swabs away the small drop of blood that wells up after he’s taken the needle out and kisses Sam’s forehead.

            “Came out of this one better than normal, huh?” Dean says in a hushed voice to Sam’s sleeping face, finishing up with washing Sam and patting him dry.

            Dean smooths Sam’s hair back and leaves, catching a whiff of himself as he dumps the water out in the bathroom around the corner.  He makes the executive decision that he needs to bathe.  He takes the bowl back down stairs and leaves it in the sink and then goes back out to the Impala to retrieve him and Sam’s bags.  Bobby’s peeling the living room paint with his snores when Dean swings back through, his catfish now bones and fin – Bobby’s out until he wakes up again to go to bed, which Dean suspects won’t be for quite some time.

            Dean takes his time in showering, getting all of the gunk out from underneath his fingernails and washing his hair until there’s not gel left in it, his spikes flattened out with the Suave For Men and a lot of scrubbing to get the bits of banshee still stuck to them.  For the time being his arousal from earlier is at a low ebb, more hungry than anything else at the moment and he realizes that he’s not eaten since that morning; they’d driven straight through from Mount Rushmore so that Sam could be in a place to recuperate even faster.

            Forgoing jeans, he slips on a pair of sweats after he’s dried out and leaves his torso naked, glad to be out of grimy clothes that he’d been in for twelve hours or better.  He drops them off in Sam’s room (he can’t sleep in the bed with him but he’s determined to wedge a cot in if it kills him) and heads back downstairs.  He microwaves two catfish and some of Bobby’s collards (the only ones he’s ever been able to stand enough to eat) and takes them back upstairs with a couple beers.

            Dean perches himself on the end of Sam’s bed while he eats, Sam still laying soldier-style on his back, snoring louder now.  Sam hardly ever snores, Dean realizes, and he becomes slightly more concerned over the fact that Sam may need x-rays.  He doesn’t relish the prospect in the least but they may be necessary; they’ve dealt with broken ribs plenty of times (Sam got his first at fourteen and Dean nearly destroyed the emergency room with worry) and normally they can deal with them on their own.  However, those other times, Sam hadn’t gone tumbling down a ravine ass over head.

            That’s the part that concerns Dean more than anything, because they likely exacerbated the blows that their banshee managed to land – not that Sam wasn’t doing a game job of fending her off as he’d recited that spell in a language that few people even spoke any more.

            Dean peers at his left shoulder again, the bruise having turned eggplant purple.  Dean touches it again, just to double check that nothing’s broken.  Sam grunts in his sleep when Dean presses down too hard on it and turns his head away from Dean’s hand.

            “Hey, I’m checking you out over here, don’t you grunt at me.”  Dean frowns at Sam’s resting face and gets Sam’s breathing evening back out as an answer.

            “That’s what I thought.”  Dean palpates a little more gently and satisfies his curiosity that Sam’s not going to fall apart within the next few hours.  He takes his plate back downstairs and brushes his teeth, the faded clock on the night stand telling him that it’s just past nine; Dean can’t remember the last time he turned in so early.  All the same, he’s going to enjoy a full night’s rest and then he’s going to start helping Sam heal first thing in the morning.

            Dean goes to the storage closet at the top of the stairs and wrestles out one of Bobby’s old camping cots and drags it back to the room Sam’s in, laying it out on the right side of the bed where Sam can reach for him if he needs to.  He tracks down one of the mattresses and picks the one with the most cushion left; he’ll clear out a room for himself tomorrow but right now he figure he has about thirty seconds left before the tiredness nagging behind his eyes takes over.

            He considers covers for a moment, deciding that tonight at least he won’t need them; it’s easily pushing eighty in this part of the house and all they’d end up doing is just make him more miserable.  Still, he finds a couple clean sheets and puts them over Sam, tucking them with care over chest and leaving his arms free.

            “Be right here when you wake up Sammy,” Dean whispers as he kisses Sam’s cheek.  He spends another minute stroking Sam’s hair, marveling at its softness and feeling a well of protectiveness bubble up inside him.  He almost falls asleep kneeling next to the bed, only becoming alert again when he registers that his legs have fallen asleep underneath him.  He pulls away from the bed and lays on the cot and within thirty seconds decides that sleeping naked sounds like a fantastic idea.  He slides his sweats off and tucks them under the cot, not particularly worried that Bobby’s going to walk into the room without knocking; it’s not like he hasn’t gotten an accidental eyeful of them before – hence why he signals his presence before entering.  (Though thankfully never together.)

            Sleep wraps its warm arms around Dean’s body not five minutes later, and he dreams of blissful nothingness.

___

            In their line of work, Sam’s experienced morning stiffness in all of its undazzling array, from his back aching as he sits up to full on pervasive numbness that he can’t recall getting there.

            The eight o’clock sun brings with it something beyond that latter feeling.

            It’d be different if the pain was localized to just one spot – such as the bite that’s still smarting in his left side.  The truth is Sam would trade just that for about anything else, because his entire body feels as if it’s been tossed into a rock crusher with the setting dialed up to “complete and utter pulverization.”

            He knows his body’s going to be sporting a camouflage of bruises for the next month, starting with his purpling left shoulder and on down, his chest and stomach dappled with perfect indentations from the banshee’s fingers where she’d slapped him; Sam swears he’s never again going to toss around the phrase “fight like a girl” lightly.

            It’s a Herculean effort to sit up just a couple inches, with his right arm having to do most of the heavy lifting.  He blinks the fogginess of slumber out of his eyes and looks around, taking a couple seconds for him to remember that he’s in Bobby’s back bedroom on the old queen he and Dean had occupied on more than one occasion together.  It squeaks as he shifts himself over onto his side and stares at the closed door like it’s some distant portal because of course on top of this monumental throbbing that’s occupying his body, he has to fucking pee.

            He’s on his way to sitting halfway upright when he notices Dean next to the bed, sprawled out on the cot and as naked as he can be.  Sam knows he’s going to have to climb over Dean to make it to the door but even that prospect is made dull by the fact that he may not even be able to stand once he extricates himself from the sheets.

            Sam decides that’s as good of an excuse as any to wake Dean.

            Sam reaches down and touches Dean’s chest and gently rocks him; Dean keeps on sleeping and Sam huffs with ever growing impatience.  He tries it again and gets nothing in return.  Clearly he’s going to need something more drastic to rouse his brother into assisting him.

            Drastic normally involves touching Dean’s privates to get his attention and even though it’s still dark in the room he can see that Dean’s sporting full morning glory and if Sam’s not just seeing things, he’s also leaking precome. Tossing a quick thank you out for small blessings, (small being relative in this case, as Dean’s swinging with some heavy tackle) he manages to brace himself against the bed well enough to reach down and wrap his long fingers around Dean’s girthy dick.  He follows its natural curve towards Dean’s belly, ignoring the shrieking pain the motion causes in his left shoulder as he strokes. 

            At least now he knows he can use that particular joint and it won’t kill him in the process.  Small miracles, man.

            Sam makes an effort at pulling Dean’s foreskin all the way up so that the head of his dick is completely covered and that dewy drop of precome gets smeared around, making Dean’s dark pink cock head shiny below the slit.  Dean moans himself towards consciousness and sits up, the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes being Sam’s big old hand fisting his cock.

            With a sleep-scratchy drawl, Dean says “glad to see you’re feeling better, Sammy.”  He grins at Sam’s halfway silhouetted face and starts to reach under the blankets to reciprocate.

            Sam stops jerking him off and bats Dean’s hand away.  “I have to pee.”

            Dean looks positively heartbroken that Sam’s hand is no longer on his cock.  “And this has to do with you giving me a handie how?”

            “Because, I tried to wake you up and I really don’t have time to argue about this – just help me up, please?”  Sam’s situation is becoming increasingly dire and if Dean really wants to argue this over pancakes then he’s fine with that.

            Dean grumbles under his breath as he puts on his sweatpants and gets up, kicking the cot to side as he slides in on Sam’s right side.  He notices that Sam’s wincing with the effort to sit up and as soon as he can give him another painkiller, knowing Sam’s trying really hard to not let on just how badly he’s injured.

            “Ready?”

            Sam sounds an affirmative and then he’s slowly getting to his feet, his left leg no longer numb but coming to life after several hours of disuse.  It nearly gives under his weight as soon as he’s upright but Dean catches him before he makes it an inch towards the ground.

            “Sorry,” Sam mumbles as they start to move towards the door.

            “Hey, you ain’t that heavy.  Better this than you wetting the bed.”  Dean grins and Sam pinches his side where he’s got his arm around his body.

            They make it to the bathroom easily enough and Sam becomes a little concerned with how hard he has to try to get Dean off of him so that he can actually go and achieve his intended goal.

            “Dean, I can handle this part by myself.”  Sam shrugs out of Dean’s grip and leans against the bathroom door.  “You don’t have to hold my dick for me.”

            Dean lights up with a lewd grin.  “Can I later?”

            Sam doesn’t deign him with a response and hobbles into the bathroom.  He doesn’t see the need to tell his brother that he has to sit down to pee, either.

            Once he’s flushed and back on his feet (the banshee poison is what had immobilized him so badly) he opens the door, finding Dean still standing there and with his left hand in his sweats, stroking his dick.

            “Uh, you realize where you are, right?” Sam points back and forth between Dean’s body and the hallway.

            Dean shrugs with the shoulder not attached to the hand jacking himself off.  “He’s downstairs minding his own business – I checked.”

            Figuring that he could stand to be egged on a little – and to maybe erase some of the worry Dean’s trying to hide on his own face – Sam reaches out and pulls Dean forward by his amulet.  Dean’s breath leaves his lungs as he’s brought in on a collision course with Sam’s body, smacking against his brother gently as Sam guides them into a messy kiss.

            Quite frankly, Sam’s mouth tastes like ass (not having brushed his teeth since the morning previous) but he makes up for it in passion, greedily sucking on Dean’s tongue and replacing Dean’s hand with his own in his sweats.  Dean’s rock hard again and the unfairly musical moan he manages to pull from his throat as he gives him a long, tight stroke makes Sam’s already weak knees approach the consistency of melting butter.

            Dean pushes into Sam’s fist as he gets his left hand on the back of Sam’s neck, trying to fuse them together as he brings Sam’s cock up and out of his boxer briefs.  He pulls the worn, black Calvin Kleins down under Sam’s ass and seizes Sam near the head of his cock and retracts Sam’s foreskin.  Sam groans deliciously as Dean thumbs at his frenulum piercing (the one “dumb college decision” that he allowed himself.)

            “Never gonna be over that you actually got this, Sammy,” Dean rasps, Sam’s mouth a scorching wind against his lips as he coaxes precome out of Sam’s cock.

            “Keep doing that,” Sam urges, the pad of Dean’s thumb making his insides burn with the electrifying crawl of pent up want. 

            Dean kisses him until they’re against the wall, Sam leaning down as best he can so that he can keep his tongue firmly inside his brother’s mouth.  His leg’s hurting like hell but nowhere near enough to make him tell Dean to stop what he’s doing, his toes curling in reflex against the warm pine floor underneath them as Dean drags him with every movement of his hand towards climax.

            For just a moment, one whited out vision, teeth sunk into Dean’s bottom lip to keep him from screaming moment, Sam’s body gives up its toiling ache for ecstasy, coming hard against Dean’s body and all over his hand, feeling the slick, hot slide of Dean’s come on his own palm and fingers a moment later, devouring each other so that Bobby doesn’t hear and yet their spunk still splatters against the floorboards anyway, a heavy, masculine pat-pat-pat that’s going to leave a scent even after it’s gone; it’s okay though, because Sam’s reclaimed a little of himself back from that monster and Dean’s hand put him there.  Sam revels in good feeling for as long as he can before his body tells him he needs to sit down, take some medicine, get his strength back up.

            Dean helps him back into the bathroom and leaves Sam leaning against the sink while he grabs some toilet paper to clean up their mess, Sam taking his cock in hand and squeezing out the last few drops before Dean returns and shuts the door.

            Sam spread his legs so that Dean can crowd up between them, taking bringing his hand up to his lips and licking the come still lingering on his flesh up.  Sam does the same to Dean, tongue darting in between his fingers and over the webbing, hazel-brown eyes locked with Dean’s as they dare each other to break first and rush in for another kiss. 

            Dean loses, bumping his nose against Sam’s cheek as he feeds Sam’s jizz back to him, feeling Sam’s cock attempt to reinflate against his belly.  He reaches down and gives him a couple firm tugs anyway, holding on tight to Sam as he thumbs at his piercing again and makes Sam moan a little too loudly than what he’d consider acceptable for Bobby being downstairs.

            “Feel better?,” Dean asks after a few more minutes of come swapping.

            Sam nods, the ache in his bones lessened for the time being and contentment making its way over his synapses.  “Yeah.”

            “Good.”  Dean holds him at arm’s length so that he can study Sam’s smile.  “Hungry?”

            “Yeah,” Sam repeats, and uses his thumb to wipe away a stray droplet of come at the corner of Dean’s mouth.  “Wanna shower first though.”

            “Might be tough for you to do alone though.”  Dean winks and starts to move towards the bathtub.

            Sam shakes his head, because Bobby probably knows their awake by now.  “I can manage, I swear.  Just bring me a clean pair of underwear and some jeans, please?”

            “Don’t get used to this pampering, because as soon as you’re not gimpy anymore I’m not fetching your drawers for you.”  Dean helps Sam over to the bathtub anyway and turns the water on.

            “I could just not wear any and save both of us the trouble,” Sam offers nonchalantly. 

            Dean chews that thought over for a brief spell as he watches Sam shimmy the rest of the way out of his underwear.  “Then we’d never get anything done.”

            “Why, because of the knowledge I wouldn’t be wearing underwear?”

            “That and you bulge so nicely in jeans _with_ underwear.” Dean takes Sam’s cock in his hand, still long and thick even when soft.  “Can’t imagine you going commando in just every day life.”

            “In that case I may have to start doing it, just to see what you’d do.”  Sam steals another kiss before he shoves Dean away.  “Better go before the old man gets suspicious – find out what he’s making for breakfast and then see if he can double it, I’m starving.”

            Dean decides it’s better to comply and he makes sure his sweats are drawn up tight before he steps out, waiting until Sam’s in the shower and he’s certain he won’t fall down.  For good measure he throws on a t-shirt and then heads downstairs, finding Bobby… packing?

            “Got a lead on a case I’ve been working for a year now, gotta head out soon.”  Bobby’s not even looking at him as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, coming back with books and papers that he’s shoving into a faded Army rucksack.

            “You need some help?”  Dean doesn’t want to leave Sam but he figures it’s worth offering his assistance anyway.

            Bobby shakes his head.  “Nah, this is a pet project of mine, and Rufus is already there and waiting.  Probably be gone through the weekend at least.  You two gonna stick around or head out?”

            “Not until Sam’s able to walk like he should again.  That banshee poison did a number on him.” He relays how stiffly Sam had moved getting out of bed that morning and skips the part where they got off outside the bathroom.

            Bobby nods.  “Well, if you two are gonna freeload, at least try and help out with the business?  You two can operate the two truck, right?”

            “Yeah, of course.  Even Sam can ride shotgun with a bum leg.”

            “You keep an eye on him and make sure he actually gets better and he keeps moving – that’s how banshees immobilize their victims, and given that Sam’s walking at all is probably a good thing.  Must not have gotten a full dose in him.”

            Dean offers a noncommittal shrug.  “Guess not.  I’ll watch him though, and if worst comes to worst we’ll get help.”

            “Right. Well, I’m out.  Breakfast is on the stove.”  Bobby starts towards the door and then turns on his heel.  “And for the love of God, can you two please not pull my library all out of order like you did last time?”  With that he’s out the kitchen door and hoofing it towards his Chevelle, leaving Dean to wonder what exactly he meant by getting his library out of order – and then he remembers; Sam and he and had been brushing up on some research and gotten handsy against a stack of books which resulted in two shelves worth tumbling towards the floor.

            It’s not his fault that Sam had him pinned against the shelf and had decided to put his hand down the front of his jeans at the time.

            Dean makes a beeline for the stove and lifts the paper towels covering up plates full of scrambled eggs and toast.  Licking his lips he dishes all of what remains for both he and Sam, setting the table and pouring the remainder of the coffee into two big mugs.  Dean decides that Sam can put in his own cream and sugar as he sees fit and heads back upstairs. 

            The sound of the pipes creaking as water rushes through them has ceased and Dean sees that the door of the bathroom is cracked open to let out some of the steam.

            “Sammy?”  Dean lurks outside while he awaits Sam’s reply.

            “Just about done,” comes the response, and Sam sounds like he’s closer to the door rather than still in the tub.

            “Can I come in?”  Dean has his hand poised on the door for an affirmative, should Sam give it to him.

            “Sure.”  Dean enters the bathroom, Sam standing at the sink while he shaves.  He’s not clad in anything except a towel that barely goes to his knees.  Dean examines Sam’s damp body, wondering where it is the remaining water ends and the sweat begins; Dean’s already covered in a light sheen that he’s decided to just make peace with.  “I didn’t get you your shaving bag.”

            Sam looks at Dean in the steam foggy mirror.  “I did.  Figured that I don’t have to look ragged just ‘cause I feel it.”  Sam slides his razor through another line of stubble on his jaw as Dean sits down on the toilet next to him.

            “So you were running around up here naked and wet and you didn’t tell me?”

            “If by running you mean hobbling and hugging the wall, then yes.”  Sam inspects the job he’s done so far on his cheeks and jaw and reapplies more Barbisol to his neck where it’s started to run off.

            “I’d have gotten it for you.”  Dean reaches out and tries to mess with the towel where it’s dipped dangerously low, giving him a perfect view of Sam’s hip, seemingly carved from tanned marble.  Sam swats him away though and Dean pulls an exaggerated pout.

            “Not while I have sharp metal near my face, babe.”  Sam’s gentle enough in saying it but his tone doesn’t allow much space for argument.

            “Just trying to see if you shaved anything fun.”  Dean stands up and decides to inspect Sam from behind.  “Dude you’ve got a wicked looking bruise across your shoulders.  How badly did she fuck you up anyway?”

            Sam lets out a long suffering sigh.  “Just the knot on the back of my head and the bite in my shoulder – and the place across my front here.  The rest is uh, from where I fell.”

            Dean snickers quietly and Sam shoots him a dirty, dirty look.  “You know that this just allows me to call you Sasquatch even more now, since you tripped over your own feet.”

            “If you’re not going to be nice, you can leave.”

            “Don’t think so.  No one else here to talk to.”

            Sam’s expression transforms from annoyance to interest.  “Oh?” 

            “Mm hm.  Bobby’s gone with Rufus through the weekend at least.  Told us to keep an eye on the place.”  Dean runs his index finger up the long curve of Sam’s spine as he keeps talking.  “And since we’re laying low for a little while anyway…”  Dean’s hand moves from Sam’s back and around to his front and he flits his fingers across Sam’s abs, dropping lower and lower to where Sam’s towel is barely holding on.

            “You propose what, that we screw each other continuously for the next four days?”  Sam drops the question as non-chalantly as possible and Dean can’t help but guffaw at his casualness.

            “I mean, if that’s what _you_ want to do, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t.” Sam pauses to wipe some of the shaving cream from his face.  “But keep in mind that I can’t exactly participate much.”

            Dean starts to say something and then shuts his mouth, actually pondering over his words for once.  “It hasn’t stopped us before.”

            Sam starts to shave his neck and looks back at his brother in the mirror.  “And I literally can’t thrust my hips without dislocating something important, Dean.”

            “Who said you’d be topping the whole time?  I can do that too, you know.”  Dean raises a fair point, but even then Sam doesn’t exactly have an intense desire to be bone-jarringly fucked while half of his body is the same shade as a plum.  (His skin’s now more of a brownish purple and it looks awful.)

            “I know you can, and I’m all about it Dean, really.”  Sam winces as he rotates to look Dean square in the eye.  “I’m just saying that we can’t quite as… athletic as we normally are.”

            “So you’re agreeing?”

            Sam sometimes wants to smack Dean for being dense and this is definitely one of those instances.  “Yes, I’m agreeing.”

            Dean’s resulting smile could compete with Polaris for its radiance.  “When do you want to start?”

            Sam takes off his towel and hangs it up on the rack next to the sink, Dean’s gaze dropping immediately to between Sam’s legs; he’s not shaved down there but definitely trimmed, and Dean finds himself wanting to stick his nose in Sam’s pubes and not move for a while.

            Sam tilts Dean’s chin back up so that Dean stands a better chance of actually listening to him.  “After breakfast.”  While he’s got Dean’s face in his hands he leans in for a kiss that transcends in its heat the atmosphere of the bathroom, making Dean’s skin feel like it’s way too tight on his own frame.  Sam opens Dean’s mouth with his tongue and rubs Dean’s crotch through his sweats, getting him hard again and enjoying the way Dean shivers when he reaches full mast.

            Dean feels like he’s lost something very near and dear to him when Sam pulls away and lets go of him.  “And right when things were getting interesting.”

            “Sorry – but if we’re gonna get _anything_ done I’m gonna need food and another Vicodin.”  Sam reaches for his piercing where he took it out to wash himself and pulls his soft cock up flat against his belly as he slides the bar through his frenulum, Dean watching transfixed as Sam screws on the metal beads to either side.  Sam notices the intent with which Dean’s watching him and once he’s got his piercing in, gently tugs at it.

            “You can touch it if you want Dean, I’ve had it long enough now that I’d like to think you know what to do with it.”  Sam makes his voice all husky to the point where it slides over Dean’s ears like a warm blanket.

            “Yeah um… fuck, Sammy, I just like watching you mess with it.”  Dean’s got his cock out again, stroking absently as he watches Sam tug and pinch that little metal sin.

            “Help me downstairs and you can watch it all you want.”  Sam reaches for his boxer briefs and pulls them on, tucking his half-hard cock to the left side and then following with his jeans.

            “Do you really think you need those?”  Dean gestures at Sam’s pants right as Sam’s buttoning them up.

            “On the off chance Bobby forgot something and is on his way back, yeah.  Don’t worry, you’ll have me out of them soon enough.”  Sam throws him a wink and starts to hobble towards the door.  “Help me downstairs?”

            Getting down the stairs is far more of a challenge than going up but they manage, one step at a time, Sam doing a game job of bearing his weight on just one leg and not letting it show too much that he’s embarrassed at how he put himself in this condition.  Dean for his part hasn’t teased him that much – but he has a feeling that when he’s feeling better – and when they’re not planning to screw each other silly, because Dean does know to shut his mouth when he’s about to get his dick wet – he’ll be on the receiving end of Dean’s barbs for at least a week.  There’s the off chance that Dean will spare him but he’s not counting his chances on that to be very high.

            Oh well – life will go on all the same anyway.

            Dean lets go of him once they reach the bottom of the stairs, Sam feeling able enough to make it to the kitchen unaided; the poison’s no longer affecting him, courtesy of the antidote, but the tumble he took means he won’t be running for a few weeks.  That’s going to drive him crazy but they’ve suffered far worse; besides, he knows Dean will be at his beck and call whether or not he wants him to be.  Dean can’t really help it, because no matter how hard he grumbles about taking care of Sam, Sam knows he doesn’t have to worry.

            In this case though, Sam’s not counting on Dean to do a lot of the heavy lifting for him; bruises aren’t exactly life threatening.

            Before Sam can place himself in one of the chairs at the table, Dean’s behind him and holding his sides like he doesn’t want him to sit yet.

            “Can I help you?.” Sam asks in mock annoyance.

            “Wanna tape your ribs up – the bitch cracked a couple with her teeth.”  Dean sounds like he’s concentrating and not a second later he’s starting to doctor Sam once more.

            “Kind of surprised she managed to get that far.”  Sam holds himself against the table and lets Dean work.

            “How come?”

            “Have you seen my lats lately?”  Sam tries to flex his torso but ends up making himself hurt even more.

            Dean chuckles at Sam’s expense but runs his fingers over Sam’s side in appreciation anyway.  “Yeah, I have.  They look great, Sammy.”

            “Yeah?”

            Dean puts the tape down for a moment and wraps his arms around Sam’s body as he plants a couple damp kisses on the back of his neck.  “Yeah.  Always loved your body, baby boy.”  Dean’s hands are suddenly on Sam’s chest, groping his pectorals and tugging at his nipples.  “Get off so fucking much over your muscles.”

            Sam groans, Dean’s palms and fingers tempting him to just bend over and let Dean have whatever he wants but his side doesn’t allow him to get too far.  “Dean…”

            “I got you.”  Dean lets him go and runs to get the bottle of Vicodin from upstairs. He’s back a moment later, Sam having sat down and started on finishing Dean’s wrapping job.

            “Thanks,” Sam says, unscrewing the cap and washing down a pill with the lukewarm coffee in front of him.  “That ought to make things easier.”

            Dean’s still standing next to him, looking down at Sam with something between concern and contentment.  “What is it?”

            Dean shakes his head and smiles.  “Just glad you’re okay, is all.  He reaches down and runs the fingers of his left hand through Sam’s hair, then down over his cheek.  “Even if you do trip over your own feet.”

            There it is.

            Sam turns his head and nips Dean’s hand with his teeth.  “Sit down and eat so we can fuck.”

            Dean beats it to the other side of the table quicker than Sam’s seen him move in a long time.

            They eat in silence for a while, the only sounds being that of silverware clinking against worn ceramic and the coffee pot burbling where Dean started making another round.  Sam’s more than grateful for cold scrambled eggs and dry toast, ravenous after not having eaten anything since yesterday morning.  Dean glances up at him every half minute to make sure he’s going alright and Sam lets it go the first few times; the sixth time though, he decides to say something.

            “I can eat perfectly fine Dean, it’s not my stomach that’s messed up.”  Sam takes another bite of eggs and decides they need a little more pepper on them.

            “Hey, just let me worry okay?”  Dean spreads some butter on his toast and pulls a look of disappointment when he realizes that there’s simply nothing that can be done to redeem it being cold and dry.

            “I’m fine, Dean.  I promise.”  Sam can feel the Vicodin starting to work its way through his body, thankfully starting with his shoulder and then moving south.

            “You sure?”

            Sam rolls his eyes.  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

            “Okay.”  Dean still doesn’t take his gaze off of him but Sam makes a point of ignoring him as he finishes working his way through his first helping of eggs.

            Before he can get too far into the second, Dean clears his throat loudly.

            “What?”

            “Have you ever thought about us doing it bare?”

            Sam pauses with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth and brings his gaze up.  “What do you mean?”

            “You know.  Fucking bareback.”  Dean’s not looking at him and Sam really, really wishes he would.

            Sam sets the cup down and exhales slowly.  “Maybe.”

            Dean fidgets while he looks at everything else in the room but Sam.  “Dean?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Look at me.”  Sam’s tone is gently commanding and Dean finally meets his eyes.  “Why are you asking now?”

            “I don’t know, just…”

            “Dean you don’t have to bring this up out of pity or anything.”

            Dean shakes his head and makes a grab for Sam’s hand.  “’M not.  I’m being serious.”

            “You realize it’s a big step, right?”  Sam rubs Dean’s knuckles and counts the scars on his forearm.

            “Don’t think it’s _that_ big.”

            Sam raises his eyebrows in surprise and doesn’t try to quell his amused smile.  “You don’t?”

            “Of course not.  Sammy, this is us, you know?  I mean, would it change all that much if we stopped wearing a condom?  It’s just a piece of latex.”  The way Dean tries so hard to simplify things is almost endearing sometimes – but this isn’t one of them.

            Sam falls silent for a moment, picking over his choices on how to respond; Dean and he are, for all intents and purposes, mostly faithful to each other, emotionally at least.  Sam gets it that every now and then Dean needs something that Sam can’t give – anonymity.  It’s never just a meaningless hook up when it’s he and Dean, and never has been.  Sam’s not jealous, not really, because he’s the one that Dean always wakes up next to.  That part doesn’t bother him, or at least it doesn’t now.  When Sam was a teenager?  Sure.  Time has lessened Sam’s intolerance and with it has come the acceptance that Dean’s ego, psyche, whatever – needs that occasional letting off of steam.  It’s probably kept their relationship in better shape than if Dean hadn’t had it.

            But this is moving to a whole new level of trust that Sam’s not sure Dean’s ready to handle, if he does talk a big game.

            “It’s not just a piece of latex.  Dean, the risks are-“

            “Don’t, Sam.  Just… don’t.  I know what the risks are.  But neither of us have VD, at least I hope not.  I’ve swallowed your come more than a few times since _either_ of us last had a test.”  Dean’s voice develops a little bit of a tremor as he speaks and Sam decides to back off – it’s not often he gets this sort of naked honesty from his brother.

            “And I have yours Dean, and I trust you.”  Sam leans forward so that he can be that much more in Dean’s space. “But it’s still something we have to think about. Just because we’re okay right now…”  Sam lets his words trail off and lets Dean mull over what he’s implying.

            Not a word comes out of Dean’s mouth for a solid five minutes as he studies Sam’s face, Sam watching the wheels turns in his head over what he wants to say and when he finally does speak, it almost catches him by surprise.  “Ten months, Sam.”

            “Ten months what?”

            “Ten months since I was with somebody other than you.”

            “What about the waitress last week in-“

            “Made it to her apartment and I got cold feet.  Kind of hard to think about other people when your ass is still sore from getting railed that morning, you know?”  Dean gives Sam a little smile and squeezes his fingers.

            “Yeah, I guess.”  Sam chuffs a laugh and pats Dean’s hand.  “Has it really been that long?”

            Dean nods.  “Sam I never, ever come as hard with someone else as I do with you.  It just never feels the same, because they just don’t know.  I can tell a girl to kiss me like she means it sure but…”

            Sam tries hard to not look like he’s hanging on to Dean’s every word but that’s exactly what he’s doing, listening with the greatest sort of intent as he grips Dean’s hand a little tighter.  “But?”

            “You’re always there.  Whenever I’m with someone else, I have to close my eyes and think about you to come.”

            Sam’s voice cracks a little when he says “you have a really odd form of flattery, you know that?”

            “Sam, I’m not joking.  It’s only ever been you, baby boy.”  Dean’s starting to get up and come around the table, and before Sam can stand Dean’s in front of him on his knees, face level with Sam’s.  “Do you understand?”

            Sam starts to nod but Dean’s mouth is against his, kissing him like the world’s about to end and he wants just one more before they both evaporate.  Sam gently pushes him back so that he can give his answer.  “Yeah, I do.  And if you’re ready for this, then I am too.”

            It’s sort of like their first kiss all over again, messy and desperate and Sam’s not sure what to do with his tongue – Dean makes the decision for him, pulling it into his mouth as he gets Sam up out of the chair and slides his hands down Sam’s back, all the way down into his pants where he can grope Sam’s ass.  Sam moans low in his throat and tries to rut against Dean’s hips, his cock a hot line in his jeans.  Dean indulges him and grabs a hold of it through the worn denim, stroking and leaving Sam breathless and panting.

            “Fuck, Dean, get me naked.”  Sam steps back and leans against the table, Dean immediately going for the button his jeans and practically ripping them off, only taking care in getting them and his underwear off once they get to Sam’s ankles.  Dean strips too, only leaving his amulet and Sam pulls him back in by it, keeping a firm grip on the leather cord and feeling its golden horns dig into the skin of his palm as he bites his way into Dean’s mouth.

            Dean growls back and starts to move them towards the living room, Sam ignoring the pain in his leg and side so that he can walk backwards.  Instinct guides them towards the couch and Dean arranges them so that he’s between Sam’s legs, Sam’s ass hanging halfway off the scratchy cushions while Dean’s on his knees.  Sam hauls him up for another kiss and spreads his thighs, biting down hard on Dean’s bottom lip when he feels the calloused tips of Dean’s fingers touch his hole.

            Sam squirms when he feels Dean’s other hand start to work his cock, deliberately focused on the head where his piercing is.  Sam pulls away and tosses his head back, his fingernails digging into Dean’s biceps.  “Lube, Dean.  Now.”

            Dean grunts and affirmative and stands, leaving Sam literally hanging as he beats it back up the stairs to their room.  He finds their half empty bottle tucked in the side pocket of his duffle and nearly trips over himself coming back down the stairs.  Sam’s got his good leg cocked up on the couch, bent high at the knee with his hole on display, that shiny pink starburst there for all the world to see while he works his cock with both hands.  Dean salivates for a moment as he watches, stroking himself as he walks back over to where Sam’s holding himself open in invitation.

            “Show off,” Dean mutters as he comes back down for a kiss.

            “Only for you.”  Sam lets him have his mouth for a second before he shoves him back.  “But you can’t come in yet.”

            “Why’s that?”  Dean knows the answer why but he wants Sam to show him instead.

            Sam grips his head and pushes Dean down between his legs, the smell of Irish Spring and Sam’s body so intoxicating that Dean feels a little drunk.  “Get me wet, Dean.  And make it good.”

            “Yes, sir.”  Dean lets the second word slip out right before he buries his nose in the soft hang of Sam’s balls, his tongue darting out and licking down his perineum so that Sam’s still caught off guard.  Sam gets his hands in Dean’s hair anyway, pulling hard and the burn that shoots through his scalp makes Dean whimper.  His cock throbs in reflex, the burn kicking him into overdrive and making him lick Sam’s hole like it’s his sole purpose in the universe.

            “Yeah, that’s it babe, get me nice and wet for your bare cock.”  Sam bites his lip to hold back a moan, Dean’s tongue opening him up little by little.  It’s sin incarnate how Dean does this, eating Sam out until his tongue is numb and Sam’s so wet that the spit runs and drips down onto the floor.  Sam still has to pinch himself with how he got so lucky, because Dean’s a supremely good ass eater and Sam loves to be eaten.  Sam presses him in further, Dean’s nose flush against his skin as he wraps his good leg around Dean’s body and he digs his heel into the small of Dean’s back.

            The anticipation’s starting to kill him, Dean can feel it, that itch that can only be scratched by being inside Sam.  Sam’s growling and moaning and trying to talk dirty but Dean’s pulling every trick he has to keep Sam from going into mouthy bastard mode.  Still, Sam’s making an effort that Dean would have given up on a long time ago but his brother’s so fucking _stubborn_ that it makes Dean work all the harder for it.

            “Come on Dean, get that fucking tongue in there.  Gotta be open for that fucking thick cock, you know I have to be.”  Sam’s moved one hand to his cock, rubbing at his piercing and tasting his own precome every few seconds.  He sucks his own fingers greedily, tongue laving over them as he lets Dean take him apart and put him back together.

            Dean finally breaks, desperation coloring his cheeks bright pink and his eyes dark jade.  “Please Sam, gotta let in me now, please sir, please?”  Dean looks like he’s about to explode, and Sam nods.

            “You may.”  Sam’s not quite prepared for how hard Dean crashes against him as they kiss again, Dean scrabbling for the lube that’s managed to wedge itself between the cushions.  He coats his fingers with the stuff, rubbing the slick all over Sam’s hole until he’s overdone it, the insides of Sam’s thighs wet along with everything else.  Sam growls and bites Dean’s neck as Dean fucks two fingers in and out of his body, hitting Sam’s prostate in the process and causing him to bite down on his neck even harder.

            “God Sam, that fucking _hurts_.”  Dean’s sure that the skin’s broken but he doesn’t fucking _care_ ; it’s never really good unless there’s a little pain involved anyway.

            “Good.”  Sam lets go of Dean’s neck and squeezes his ass around Dean’s fingers, his hands around Dean’s neck and making him look into his eyes as he does so.  “Ready for my tight ass, Dean?  Gonna fuck me good and deep?”

            Dean chokes out a broken “yes sir,” Sam’s fingers squeezing his neck a little too hard but the pressure on his windpipe just makes him that much harder.  Dean can’t quite figure out if Sam’s just trying to make up for being injured and is feeling vengeful for not being able to power bottom or if this is just plain old Sam, dominating and playing Dean like a virtuoso as usual. 

            Sam releases him long enough so that Dean can remove his fingers and line up his cock, torn between watching himself enter Sam’s body bare or Sam’s face as he pushes in; he opts for the former, because it’s the only first time he’ll get to see it.  Sam’s hands are impatient on his hips, pulling too hard and Dean’s bottomed out before the rest of him can catch up, balls flush with Sam’s body and the temperature in the room going up by a solid twenty degrees.

            Dean’s yanked forward when Sam gets his fingers in the leather thong of his amulet, foreheads bumping as Sam licks over the spot where he’d bit Dean earlier.  “How’s it feel, Dean?”

            “G…good, Sammy.”  Dean’s convinced that he’s died and moved on to a whole new level of existence, some place very, very hot and the only other thing there is dirty talking little brothers.

            “Yeah?  You like that?”  Sam clenches around him and Dean’s heart nearly stops.  “Come on Dean – fuck me.”

            Dean starts to pump his hips, throwing caution to the wind as he pulls three quarters of the way out and slams back in, his face still pressed against Sam’s.  Sam’s breath is hot against his face, his eyes boring into Dean with an equal measure of intensity and trust.

            “How long have you wanted this, Dean?  Wanted your baby brother’s ass raw?  Bet you’ve wanted me like this for years, wanted to fuck me and fill me up with your come.”  Sam angles for a hard kiss again, sucking on Dean’s tongue like he’s trying to fuse them together.

            Dean groans, Sam holding him in deep with his leg, fucking Sam with short, sharp thrusts.  He knows he’s hitting Sam’s prostate, given the way Sam keeps mewling into his mouth.  Dean drinks down every one, doubling his efforts to hear them more, interjected with Sam’s mouth pouring filth that Dean’s always surprised to hear.  Sam’s got all of these big words stored up in his head but when he’s got Dean’s cock in his ass the absolutely nastiest stuff comes out of him.

            “Come on Dean, drive that fucking cock deep.  Wanna fucking leak for hours, then I want you to fuck me again so that I’m all loose and wet for you.  Fuck, Dean, feels so fucking good.  Can’t wait to show you how it feels, make you come on my naked dick and then lick it out of you.”  Sam’s close, his cock twitching every time Dean fucks back into him.

            “Fuck, Sammy, gonna fucking come,” Dean rasps, reaching for Sam’s hands as his orgasm tears out of him, hips stuttering as he fills Sam up.  Sam wriggles his right hand free of Dean’s grip and all it takes is two strokes before he follows Dean over the peak, his cock spurting all over he and Dean’s bellies where it’s trapped between them.

            The smell of sweat and sex funk fills the air, leaving the two of them breathless and joined together.  Sam’s laying back against with the solid, heavy weight of Dean against him, locked in a sloppy kiss that’s more teeth and intent than anything else.  Dean’s not ready to pull out yet, his cock still rock hard; he can feel himself leaking out, joining the puddle of lube on the floor in front of the couch. 

            Sam shifts and tries to push Dean off, his side screaming at him where he’s taxed himself a little too hard.  The bandaging’s started to come loose and he needs to tie it back up before they do any more damage.  “Dean, get off.”

            Dean shakes his head, his breath not quite caught yet and Sam filthy wet and warm around his dick.  “I…. God, Sam…”

            Sam can feel it, Dean’s dick still swollen inside his body.  Knowing that Dean’s still so turned on from fucking him bare gets him hard again too.  Still, his ribs are killing him and eventually the throbbing pain is going to win out over the need to have another orgasm.  “Dean, my side.”

            “Shit, sorry.”  Dean’s reluctant as he pulls out and helps Sam sit up, melting more than a little when his load leaks out as the head of his dick catches on the rim of Sam’s hole. 

            “Help me up.”  Sam reaches out and Dean helps him stand, both of their knees shaky as they find their footing.  Sam’s belly is absolutely covered in come, and Dean drops to his knees to lick it up.

            “That’s it baby, clean me up.”  Sam looks down and watches Dean’s pink tongue travel over the dips and valleys of his abs and hips where they’re sticking out from underneath the bandaging on his middle, his cock hard against Dean’s neck.  Dean doesn’t stop until he’s gotten all of it he can, and then stands up to kiss it back to Sam.

            Sam cleans the inside of Dean’s mouth with his tongue as he walks them towards the wall, letting go of Dean once he’s between two of Bobby’s book cases.  The taste of his own jizz is slightly bitter in his mouth, turning around and licking his lips as he sticks his ass out.

            “Again,” Sam commands, and Dean doesn’t need to be told twice.

            “Yes, sir,” Dean says, some of his confidence returning and soon he’s inside Sam again.

            “Fuck me.”

            Those two syllables are all Dean needs before he’s holding onto Sam’s hips, Sam’s head turned back so that he can have Dean’s mouth against his as Dean finally gets to pound him, growling and pushing back against Dean as best he can, listening to the weighty smack of Dean’s balls against his ass.  The fact that they’re using Dean’s come as lube is electrifying, Sam wringing his cock with his right hand, left braced against the mahogany shelf so that he doesn’t fall over. 

            Dean lets him have it, Sam a solid wall of muscle and sweat in his hands, taking out of breath to mouth back at Dean but he’s still fighting him anyway, never letting Dean settle into a rhythm and it’s absolutely exhilarating, pulling Dean atom from atom like this.  Sam knows he can make Dean go all fucking day but there’s a finite limit as to where he can push his body and after this, he knows he’s going to need to stay off his feet.

            Right now though, he’s going to let Dean fuck him stupid.

            Dean’s left hand moves to join Sam’s against the bookshelf, repositioning it above Sam’s hand against the faded wallpaper.  He buries his face in the back of Sam’s neck as he feels his third orgasm that day approaching, tears of pleasure already starting to leak from his eyes.  Sam’s still tight around him, too hot and too much and everything he needs, a fire burning him from the inside out and then he’s being wracked by spasms so intense he nearly blacks out halfway through, barely hearing Sam’s scream as he comes too. 

            They both sink to the floor after that, Sam sitting in Dean’s lap and panting so hard that Dean thinks he may have damaged himself further.

            “Y… you okay?”  Dean kisses Sam’s neck and holds him as tight as he dares.

            “Yeah.”  Sam’s wincing with every breath and now’s probably a good time to lay him down for a while.

            “Sammy, God, that was…”  Dean doesn’t have a word, so he kisses Sam on the mouth instead.  It’s unhurried in a time slowing sort of way, and he doesn’t pull away until he feels his heart rate wind down to a semi normal level.          

            Sam hums pleasantly, then squeaks as his own muscles squeeze a little too hard against his wound.  “Tired, Dean.”

            “You worked awfully hard just then.”  Dean gives him another kiss and gets him to his feet.  “Can you make it up the stairs?”

            Sam nods.  “Easy does it though.”

            Dean helps him up and tries not to think about the fact that maybe he worsened Sam’s condition but the contented look on Sam’s face tells him that Sam doesn’t regret it in the least – and neither should he.  He gets Sam comfortable on the bed before he cleans him up with a cool cloth, interspersed with kisses that while tender still taste like come.  Dean waits until Sam’s asleep and he’s cleaned up the living room before he heads to the shower and jerks himself off one more time, the last vestiges of his energy leaving him and as soon as he’s dried off he goes and lays down next to Sam, cuddled up as best as he can manage, one arm thrown over his chest and his nose buried in the crook of his neck.

___

            They wind up staying at Bobby’s through Tuesday morning, leaving Bobby none the wiser and his house in much the same order as they’d come to it – except as they pull away Dean’s got all sorts of bite marks covering his chest and Sam’s leaking come from where they’d snuck in a pre-dawn fuck, Sam laying on his side and Dean’s mouth sealed over his so that Bobby wouldn’t hear them.

            Sam can’t recall a time previous when he and Dean had fucked so continuously – not after Standford, not after Dean had been pulled back from Hell; Sam’s not complaining of course.  They’d come out their little vacation slower and as soon as they’re off Bobby’s property Dean’s got his fingers laced together with Sam’s on the seat between them.

            Sam’s started to recover faster, and he feels like he’ll be back close to fighting shape before they reach their next destination; Miami, Florida.  Dean had been surfing the news Sunday afternoon after he and Sam had gone for round four that day and had located a case involving young men staying at a resort being cut apart and then being festooned all over their rooms; Sam’s sure that the maid who kept finding the bodies is going to be in therapy for the rest of her life and he honestly feels a little sorry for her.

            “Florida, Sammy.  It’ll be like we’re on vacation and when it’s done we can fuck around on a beach and not give a damn for a few days, how does that sound?”  They’re passing through Arkansas now, the late afternoon sun setting on day two of travel from South Dakota.

            Sam stretches in his seat and rolls his window down a little further.  “Yeah, and dodge tourists constantly.”

            “That’s not a bad thing, you know.”

            “How?”

            “More targets, more of a chance to catch this thing.  A little decorating with entrails is bound to drive up the appeal of the place. Something about the macabre being fascinating, right?”

            Sam shakes his head.  “Yeah, but how many of them have actually seen a body turned inside out?”

            Dean starts to counter argue but concedes Sam’s point.  “Fair enough.”

            The Turquoise Turtle resort and hotel is as colorful as its name implies, the building one large, two story complex sprawled out over several acres  in the shape of a sea turtle.  The whole façade is painted in iridescent blue-green and the sight of it nearly makes Dean gag.

            “If I had to stay here, I’d kill people too – it’s the color of fucking mouthwash.”  Dean looks at the structure in consternation as he removes his bag from the Impala’s trunk.

            “We haven’t seen the inside yet.”  Sam gestures towards the entrance with his head and not even the hideous color of the resort can detract from Sam, looking like a Playgirl model in his tight jeans and black tank top.  Dean wonders if it’d be indecent to lick him like a popsicle right now and just let their monster run free for a little while longer.

            “It better be nice,” Dean mutters as he jogs to catch up with Sam. 

            They get in for next to nothing on “official business in regards to the murder investigation,” flashing their FBI badges to the front desk clerk.  She puts them in a room near where the most recent incident took place, and Dean changes his tune once he sees the Jacuzzi and complimentary room service menu.  Sam thinks it’s a bit gaudy but hey, the bed’s king sized and the sheets don’t have mysterious stains on them either.

            “Dude, this place is huge.”  Dean’s voice echoes from the bathroom and Sam has to go and get him before he hops in the Jacuzzi.

            “And we have a beast to catch – now c’mon, before it can jump out at us and we end up a wall decoration”

            Dean bemoans his existence until Sam shushes him with a long kiss and a promise that they’ll do their best to destroy the room they’re staying in while they’re hear.

            It doesn’t take but a day for them to catch their quarry, the long physically dead former owner of the motel that stood on the ground before he was bought out by a young land baron back in the late 60s, targeting men that looked like him in revenge for his livelihood being destroyed.  It’s a simple salt and burn, even though they had to ruin the display in the lobby containing the master key to the old building to get rid of him.  The owner of the Turtle is grateful anyway and offers Sam and Dean an extra week on the house in thanks for their efforts.

            Neither of them protest her generosity.

            The night after they get rid of their ghost, Sam and Dean find their way to the bars down near the waterfront for some drinks and hustling, picking the one that has the smallest number of pink umbrellas signaling its outdoor gathering area.  It’s a rather rough around the edges place named The Rusty Spoke, its title spelled out in creatively bent motorcycle parts across a teakwood front.  Sam hesitates before entering, his fingers still holding onto the Impala’s passenger door handle, parked in between the buildings because they’ve literally taken the last possible space.

            “We’re going to be murdered in here,” Sam says, reaching behind himself and feeling for the Beretta tucked safely in his waistband.

            “And hustling tourists just isn’t any fun.  These guys’ll offer a fair game and if we’re lucky, a fair fight.”  Dean steps around to Sam’s side and tugs him forward by his belt loops into a kiss.  “Nothing like a tussle to get the blood flowing.”

            “If that’s what you were after, we could have just stayed back at the hotel.”  Sam nips Dean’s jaw and allows him to pull him towards the door.

            “Aw, no fun in that.  C’mon Sammy, let’s go make awful decisions.”

            Sam’s exactly right about the sort of people he predicted would be in here and he’s on the alert the moment he and Dean walk in, the smoky haze casting a pall over his desire to play pool but Dean insists, and not five minutes into them being there Dean’s already scoped out a game.

            “See those guys over there?  The big ones with the beards and mudflap girl tattoos?”

            “Dean, that’s everyone in here.” Sam whispers.  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

            “The ones rubbing their crotches at you.”  Dean points and sure enough, Sam’s stomach crawls when he sees four men who look like they all eat nails for breakfast giving him the “come here, pretty boy” look.

            “I’m going to kill you.”

            “And they’re wagering a thousand dollars all told.  We can take ‘em.”  Dean’s wearing his “totally not a pool shark” smile as he approaches and Sam’s t-shirt is suddenly feeling way too tight on his own body; seriously, why couldn’t they have just ordered in and fucked each other senseless till dawn?

            Dean starts off playing crappily enough, with Sam trying to dial down his own skill level so that it appears they’re a couple of novices who just so happened to wander into the wrong place at the wrong time.  Sam’s afraid to stay bent over for too long, just in case someone gets a bright idea and tries to make a move on him and given how he’s being mentally stripped down every time he looks up, he wouldn’t put it past their temporary companions to try something.

            Sam fakes it for two games along with Dean, nervous as hell to the point where he’s sweating in spite of the air conditioning working beyond hard to keep the crowded room cool.  He lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his mouth and ends up getting a chorus of whistles and cat calls in return.

            Dean’s eyes turn hard as steel when he growls “you better be careful what you say.  He’s mine.”  Dean reaches for Sam and tugs him in for a messy kiss, claiming him in plain sight and making Sam’s vision swim when he feels Dean’s tongue lick over his teeth.

            Dean turns back around and while he proposes another game, lifts up the back of his shirt for Sam.  Sam looks down, expecting to see a gun tucked in Dean’s jeans as well just in case he needed the extra reassurance that Sam’s not the only one armed; instead, he gets an eyeful of Dean’s jeans slung low on his hips and peeking out from them a pair of white lace trimmed, bikini style pink panties.  Sam can’t help the way he says “holy shit” before Dean drops his shirt back down and straightens, reaching back and pulling Sam against his body.  He grinds his ass like a stripper against Sam’s crotch, their pool mates held captive by the show Dean’s putting on.

            Sam doesn’t breathe until Dean’s finished marking his territory and breaks the formation with a loud clatter.

            Of course now, Dean actually starts playing – and instead of perving on Sam, so do the bikers.  Sam’s not able to help much, staring at Dean’s ass and trying to will his hard on away but to absolutely no avail.  He wants to strip Dean down right there and see what the rest of those panties look like, eat his ass and then return the favor of fucking Dean bare just like Dean’s been doing for the last week.

            It’s hell, but Dean’s the one controlling the strings this time and Sam’s not left with much choice aside from enjoying this sweetest kind of torture.

            Sam’s working on his third beer when Dean finally manages to clean their opponents out, not nearly as mad as they should be but Dean gave them all such a good show that their grumbling about being hustled is relatively mild.  Dean perches himself against the pool table, his cue resting in the crook of his arm and recounting the stack of Andrew Jacksons and Ulysses Grants in his hand.

            “Two thousand dollars, Sammy.”  Dean keeps his voice low just in case anyone overhears and decides to have a go at taking their winnings away.

            Sam crows up against his brother, nudging Dean’s thighs apart with his knees.  “You nearly killed me just now.”

            Dean looks up as he lifts Sam’s shirt and stuffs the money in the waistband of his underwear.  “You liked it.”

            Sam takes Dean’s hand and holds it against his crotch, letting him feel how hard he is.  “Think I’m a little bit beyond just liking it.”

            “Oh yeah?”  Dean squeezes Sam through his jeans, his smile alcohol loose and his expression easy.  “Should I do something about it for you sir?”  On the word “sir,” Dean finds the head of Sam’s cock and makes his piercing rub against his underwear.

            Sam groans and yanks Dean up by his amulet, a thrill racing down Dean’s spine as Sam handles him to a standing position and kisses him with a rough shove of his tongue against his lips.  Dean opens up right away, nearly dropping his pool cue as Sam reaches back and works his fingers into his jeans.  The bar’s crowded and dimly lit in this part, so no one notices as Sam runs the tip of his index finger over Dean’s hole.

            “Want it bad, don’t you?”  Sam’s voice is at that pitch that Dean’s told him causes partial spinal collapse.  “Just had to wear you pretty panties and show off.”

            “Yes, sir.”  Dean whimpers, Sam’s proximity making the thinking parts of his brain cease to function properly.

            “Outside, in the car.  You want to put on a show Dean?  You’re gonna fucking show _everyone_ how well you take your little brother’s cock.”  Sam steps back and pushes Dean towards the door, only stopping to hand the bartender a twenty from his waistband and telling him to keep the change.

            The sea breeze has picked up since they arrived and it’s cooled things off significantly, and the wind ruffles Sam’s hair and shirt, plastering both to his body from where he’s been sweating so much.  Dean can barely keep his eyes on where he’s going because he’s staring at Sam, walking with the barest trace of a limp and carrying a look of lustful intent in his eyes so strong that Dean nearly just offers himself up against the wall of the bar.

            Sam opens the rear passenger for Dean and pushes him inside, getting Dean to turn over once he’s in.  Dean looks up as Sam unbuttons his jeans, wriggling forward and holding his mouth open.

            “So good, Dean,” Sam praises, getting his cock out and letting it hang in front of Dean for a moment.  Dean licks his lips, enticed by the silvery drop of precome pearled at the slit and the nearly matching shade of Sam’s piercing, eager to get Sam’s cock wet for him.

            “What do you say, Dean”  Sam purrs the words and looks around to see if anyone’s watching yet – so far, they haven’t been noticed.

            “May I suck your cock sir?  Please?”  Dean looks up expectantly, batting his eyelashes and rubbing Sam’s thighs.

            “Yes.”  Sam’s barely got the word out of his mouth before Dean’s swallowed Sam’s dick down with practiced ease, its excessive girth a welcome challenge as Dean sets to work.  He starts by pulling back to the head and letting the tip rest against his lips as he teases Sam’s piercing, jerking Sam off with both hands as he does;  Sam moans, his nails scratching against the black paint of the Impala’s roof.

            “Fuck, Dean, so fucking good at this baby.  You like it, don’t you?  You like sucking my big cock, letting it open up that pretty mouth and throat.”  Sam feels his toes curl hard inside his shoes as Dean takes him halfway down and nods, looking up at him and nodding as he rolls Sam’s balls around.

            “Let me hear you.”  Sam pulls away, heavy trails of spit connecting and sagging between Dean’s mouth and the end of his dick.

            “Yes, sir.  I love sucking your big cock, love getting it wet for you.”  Dean tries to keep his voice steady and conceal his eagerness to have Sam back in his mouth.

            Sam looks up and notices their pool companions from earlier, watching Sam and Dean with jealousy and arousal.  Sam nods and beckons them within ten feet of the car, just close enough to have a good look.

            “They’re watching, Dean.  Now show them how good you are.”  Sam looks away from their audience and returns his focus to Dean.

            “Fuck my face, sir.  Please?”  Dean holds his mouth open, those sinful lips looking plump and pink from the half-light of the street lamps.

            Sam holds the back of Dean’s head as he starts to thrust in and out of his mouth, letting Dean get warmed up to it for a minute.  Dean curls his tongue against Sam’s piercing every time he slides back in, a single tear leaking out from the corner of his left eye as the head of Sam’s cock starts to bump against the back of his throat.

            Dean listens as Sam’s mouth spills praises, his own cock still trapped in his jeans and he knows he’s leaked right through his panties; they’re clinging to him like only silk can, a little too cloying and hot but for this?  It’s more than worth it, especially since he knows he made Sam hard at the very sight of them.

            Sam finally pulls back, unable to handle anymore or he’s going to come.  “Show me your ass, baby,” he instructs, and Dean turns over.  He gets on his knees to the best of his ability and drops his jeans, pulling them off so that they’re around his calves.  He looks back to try and see Sam’s reaction, and Sam’s face at that moment in time is going to be burned into his mind until he draws his last breath.

            “Fuck, Dean, you’re so…”  Sam pinches the base of his cock to stop himself from blowing right then, and the bikers move a little closer to see too.  Sam glares at them before they get even a foot, and he flashes the gun in his waistband to halt their advance.  Looking back at Dean, he sees where his cock is hanging out of them and there’s a steady drip of precome connecting the tip and the leather seat underneath him.

            “Do you like them, sir?”  Dean’s voice is scratchy from having Sam fuck his throat.

            “I love them baby.”  Sam reaches forward with both hands and caresses Dean’s hips and ass, running his fingers underneath the clingy fabric.  “You look so fucking sexy, Dean.”

            Dean wiggles his ass and looks at Sam, a secretive smile curling his lips.  “Knew you would, Sammy.”

            Sam ducks into the Impala and removes the money from his waistband, then bends himself over Dean’s back.  “Love you,” he murmurs into Dean’s mouth before he kisses him, deep and tender.  Dean takes the opportunity to recenter himself, because Sam’s about to destroy him in the only good sense of that word that he can think of.

            “Love you too,” Dean purrs back, Sam’s fingers back inside his panties and touching his hole.  “Already open for you sir, all you have to do is fuck me.”  Dean hands Sam some lube from under the seat and feels his skin prickle as Sam leans up and slides his panties down to his knees.

            “Gonna do it babe, gonna fuck you so good and deep, just how you like it.”  Sam slicks his cock up really quick and takes the gun out of his waist band, setting it in the space under the rear windshield where anyone who tries to get too close has a warning before Sam shows that he does indeed know how to use it.  He drizzles some lube onto Dean’s ass and fucks it into him with his fingers for good measure anyway, Dean face down and holding his ass open for Sam.

            “Please sir, I’m ready.”  Dean has to bite the words out, his cock achingly hard and rigid against his stomach.

            Sam holds himself steady as he pushes in, his left hand bracing him against the doorjamb.  Dean chokes back a scream as Sam fills him, nose smushed into the seat, smelling of sweat and sex past, both he and Sam imprinted on this space forever.  Dean has a moment of clarity right before Sam bottoms out, thinking that it couldn’t possibly be more appropriate the first time Sam fucks him bare be any other place than right here.

            “Sammy…”  Dean breathes, his heart thundering like the heavens rent apart in his ears.

            “Got you, Dean.”  Sam starts to move, and Dean has to bring his forearm to his mouth so that he has something to bite down on.

            Sam pounds him hard, giving up his dirty talk in favor of moaning Dean’s name, each and every sound out of his mouth completely sincere as he gives Dean what he wants, barely noticing the people watching or the distant sound of sirens approaching; someone’s called the cops on them, which makes this whole situation that much more intense.

            Sam leans down and hauls Dean up so that their torsos are pressed together, one beefy arm keeping Dean upright.  “Hear that, Dean?  They’re coming for us.  Coming for us because I’m fucking my big brother where everyone can see.  You know what?  Don’t fucking care.”  Sam slows down, driving his cock deep and sucking on Dean’s earlobe.  “Fucking love it, the way you showed yourself to me.  Because I’m the only one who gets this now.”

            Dean moans, and turns his head for a kiss.  Sam gives it, moving his hand down so that he can jerk Dean off, his cock right against his prostate.  Dean starts to shake, Sam’s palm rubbing the head of his cock over and over again, hitting the sensitive part where his foreskin bunches and pushing him dangerously close.

            “Sammy, ‘m gonna come.” 

            “Come.”

            And Dean does – all over the backseat, shuddering as Sam drives them together and a second later he feels warmth trickling down his thighs, Sam pumping him full as he bites on Dean’s shoulder, clean through his t-shirt to the skin and they gasp and heave in unison, Sam’s hear a sweaty mess against Dean’s cheek and the blaring of police sirens coming within half a mile of their location.  Sam swears it makes him want to yank Dean out and fuck him over the hood but he lets Dean go, zipping himself back up and helping Dean do the same.

            “Gentleman,” Sam says as he helps Dean out of the car and over to the driver’s seat, “your attention is appreciated but we have to go now.  Thank you all for an enjoyable evening.”

            Thirty seconds before the cops show up, Dean’s rocketing towards The Turquoise Turtle, he and Sam laughing all the way there.

            Sure, Dean’s a little uncomfortable, consider how sore his ass and throat are but you know what?

            Dean wouldn’t trade that floating feeling in his heart for a damn thing.


End file.
